The Rise
by SilverFox133
Summary: Everyone knows of Jeff the Killer and his reckless brutality, but how did he get started? Well, like the biographies of most psychopaths, this all started with a woman... T for violence. Seriously. It's Jeff the Killer.
1. Chapter 1

Awake.

She was awake.

Shrouded in darkness, the only thing breaking the silence her breath, she was awake.

She felt her chest rise and fall, rise and fall with each breath, but she saw nothing. And with every heartbeat, the merest, most subtle tilt or twitch came the pain.

Like a knife, ripping into her chest, so close, so close to her heart.

_Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump_

The rapid beating of her heart formed a rhythm together with her shallow breaths.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" She whispered, her voice so small yet sounding like the loudest scream in the darkness of her mind.

Footsteps. The turning of a doorknob. _Click-clack click-clack _came the sound of hospital shoes on the linoleum.

"Miss Dakota Grey?" asked a man in a sharp, pitiless tone.

"Yes." She rasped. "Am I... Am I blind?"

"No. Your head is in a cast. You were in a very serious accident, Miss Grey."

The man's monotone somehow held an air of haughtiness and disgust, and from that moment, Dakota hated this man whom she could not see.

The clacking of his shoes again, and the sharp squeak of the doorknob. The man left without another word, leaving her again to the darkness that swelled inside of her.

•

_The fire crept closer, closer, roaring to a blaze in seconds. Dakota screamed, watching it devour grass and tree, until even the night sky was being eaten by the forestfire. The stars flickered out, veiled with smoke, and the pines roared and cracked as they fell._

_Dakota felt the heat on her back like demon's breath._

_The others were dead. How could they leave her, alone, fleeing from the flames and cowering in the dark?_

_She tripped. Fell to the ground with a dull thud._

_"Someone, please!" she cried._

_That was when she knew. She was truly alone._

_She turned, still sprawled on the ground, and watched the fire with a horrible fascination. It crawled, closer and closer, the fumes making her eyes bleed._

_Something trickled down the side of her face._

_She swiped at it, still never tearing her eyes away from the hungry orange..._

_In the harsh red glare of the fire she glimpsed on her hand a liquid the colour of flesh._

_Her skin was melting, falling in rivulets down her face and drip, drip, dripping down onto her palm._

_Surrounded by fire and death and blood — Dakota Grey laughed. And then came the blackness._

•

She was torn from her nightmares by the frightened voice of her mother.

"Honey, it's your Mom. I'm here, oh Dakota, I'm here." She drew in a sharp breath, "What do you remember?"

Dakota's voice was muffled by the cast, "I... There was a fire. We were camping in the woods, and then I woke up and there was fire everywhere. I was the farthest away from it, and I saw that it had already burned the other tents. I was alone and... And I ran. " she coughed, a terrible, hacking cough.

"Honey, listen. This is gonna be a shock, okay? Just listen to Dr. Sharp."

Dr. Sharp cleared his throat, and even without seeing him Dakota knew that he cared nothing for her or her wellbeing.

"Miss Grey, the fire that you escaped was a chemical fire. The fumes have somewhat... _Altered _your appearance."

Suddenly, hands began to unwind her face-cast.

A chink of light appeared, then a blurry figure that she identified as her mother. Almost off and... There. She could see again, completely.

Her father, who had just entered the room, grunted. Her mother gasped and started to sob, quietly.

"The chemicals confused your body's pigments. Really, just your face. The fire itself partially melted away the skin of your jaw. I'm afraid plastic surgery won't be an option here, Ma'am." The last comment was aimed at Dakota's mother.

"But can't you fix it?" Dakota's mother pleaded tearfully.

"Fix what? Someone give me a mirror!" Dakota demanded.

She started to get out of the pristine white hospital cot when Dr. Sharp handed her a small handmirror.

A scream welled in her throat, but quickly died away. Her face was pale white, like the moon, and her lips were stained black. Around her now bleached blue eyes were rings of black. Her jawbone poked slightly through her face, and her long hair was no longer golden brown, but greasy black.

"I am... " she choked.

"Please, Dr, you have to fix her!" Wailed Mrs. Grey.

"I am beautiful." Dakota whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

*3 weeks later*

"Good morning, beautiful." Whispered an achingly familiar voice.

"Jeff? Is... Is that you?" Dakota murmured, rubbing her eyes and sitting up in her bed. The covers twisted around her, and when she stretched she knocked over her lamp.

She flinched, expecting the tinkling crash of shattering glass, but instead there was a soft, hollow 'flump' and a whisper.

"Careful there."

She yawned and stretched again, the sleeves of her tight top slipping back to reveal a row of scars along her forearm, "Yes. Good morning, Jeff."

She saw a lanky figure beside her bed, holding her lamp. He was wearing that worn white sweatshirt, the one she loved. His blonde hair was swept back to show his bright blue eyes.

She put her lamp back on her nightstand.

Jeff took her arm in his hands, brows furrowed, "Dakota? Have you been..."

She cut him off, all traces of the happy, sleepy girl he'd walked in to, "Yes. I've been cutting. What do you expect? Look at me."

He let go of her arm and gazed at her. "What's wrong with you?"

"My face, Jeffery. My face... I'm a monster. I thought... I had thought that I was so beautiful, so beautiful because of this," her voice dropped to a grating hiss, "But they run away from me. They're scared. People screaming at the supermarket because of my face. I haven't left the house in a week."

"They just don't understand you yet." Jeff said simply.

"But Jeff. I like it, I like their screams. I want /more/. And I want blood." She whispered darkly.

Dakota flung off the sheets and stood, taking his hand in hers.

"I want blood." She repeated, her lidless eyes wide and bloodshot.

"Good night, Jeff."

"But you've only just got up." He cocked his head, confused, blonde hair falling in his eyes.

"Just go to sleep..." Dakota hissed, pupils slitted, before she crawled back into bed and pulled the lamp cord.

•

Jeff crawled out of her bed, watching her breathe for a second before tip-toeing out of the room*.

He picked up his pack and shuffled to the bathroom.

In the dark, he could see his reflection in the mirror. He shrugged the bag off his shoulder, where it landing with a soft thud on the floor, and pressed his face against the glass.

The vague outline he recognized as himself... Except his eyes and mouth were dark, gaping.

A silent scream, a plea, asking him to stop.

He flicked on the light, glaring at his reflection.

Blonde hair, swept low over his brow, hoodie flicked back, blue eyes darkened with menace, skin semi-pale from wearing his hood.

He rolled up his sleeves, revealing a dozen or more fine white scars on each arm.

He took the bleach and splashed it on his face, feeling the chemicals eat away at his skin and eyelids.

He watched through slitted eyes with morbid pleasure as the bleach turned his skin pale, white, really.

The razor he flicked open and drew across his lips, tasting blood and glancing at it dribbling down his chin and drip, drip, dripping into the porcelain sink.

He took the lighter and gazed at the flickering flame. So tiny..

He glanced at his image in the mirror, remembering his screaming reflection. He threw back his head in a silent laugh.

He lit his eyelids on fire, enjoying the pain as they burned away, leaving a ring of ash around his unblinking eyes.

"It is done." He whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

*yet another 3 weeks later*

Dakota flicked her tongue out to lick her lips.

Drawing her knife, she scraped it along the floorboards outside the girl's bedroom.

Scrrrrittttcchhhhhhh

Scraaaatttccchhhhhh

She hissed, and was silent.

To create fear before the strike, to terrify before death. She loved the smell, the smell of human fear, barely detectable in the still night air.

She dragged her nails across the door. Dakota heard the heavy breathing of the teenage girl pause.

The rustling of bedsheets as the girl hid under her covers. Like a child.

Dakota laughed harshly, softly, and opened the door with a slow _creeaaakkkk._

"Hello child." She murmured, padding over to the girl's bedside. She made her footsteps heavy, "I am here to tell you that nightmares are _real._"

Dakota ripped off the sheets and the girl screamed. "Who are you?" she whispered, blue eyes wide.

"I am Death." Dakota said simply.

She slit the girl's throat before she could respond.

•

Immediately she noticed the fine white scars on the corpse's forearm.

A sick smile twisted her face. She glanced at the blood pooling on the sheets, leaking from the body's ruined throat. She took out her pen and dipped it lightly in the blood, scrawling a note on a piece of paper and placing it delicately atop the girl's exposed forearm.

She picked up her knife, and on the other arm, ripped four heart-wrenching words into the girl's flesh.

_You never loved her._

•

Mr. and Mrs. Forde swore they'd heard their daughter scream.

"Honey, did you hear that?" Whispered Mrs. Forde fiercely, her eyes flashing.

"Yeah. I'm gonna go check on Katie, alright?" he muttered back.

Mr. Forde stumbled out of bed.

•

He walked warily down the hall, felt a bead of sweat drip down his nose.

_Am I... Am I nervous? Nothing's wrong. She probably just had another bad dream._

His breathing grew quick, shallow, even feeling with all confidence that his 15 year old daughter was perfectly fine.

•

"Katie? Honey, all you alright?" he asked, reaching for the light switch.

There was a wet squelching sound as he placed his foot on the hardwood.

He quickly flipped the switch and screamed.

•

Mrs. Forde dashed into the room let out a blood-curdling shriek. Blood was spilled on the floor, seeping from a wound in Kate's throat.

The dead girl's eyes were wide and glazed. Imploring.

Pleading.

Only then did Mrs. Forde notice the words carved into the flesh of Kate's arm, and something else...

Scars.

Old scars, thin and white, all up and down both of Kate's arms. Her daughter, her precious, innocent baby girl, had been... Cutting her wrists?

Tears streamed down Mrs. Forde's face as she looked at the words on Katelin's arm.

_You never loved her._

Mrs. Forde released a strangled sob.

Mr. Forde was looking at a small note card, with words written in dark red scrawled across it.

He was crying softly, and he threw the note down.

Mrs. Forde was dialing 911 when the phone was slapped from her hand.

"No, no... You can't leave here alive, you worthless bitch." rasped a voice.

A figure detached itself from the ceiling, dark hair swaying and hiding the thing's face.

•

The creature began to sing, softly, slowly.

_She paints a pretty picture, but her picture has a twist. _

_Her paintbrush is a razor and her canvas is her wrist._

_She paints her pretty picture in a color that's blood red._

_While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead._

_Her pretty picture's fading, quite slowly on her arm._

_The blood is no longer racing through her, she can no longer do any harm._

The thing concluded its song with a smug smile on its moon-pale face.

"But you see, you wretched people, your daughter was in a battle. A battle with herself, and those scars are her wounds. In a sense, she won the battle."

The creature, which was now most decidedly a humanoid, rolled up its sleeves to reveal a line of ragged white scars.

"But in a sense, I won as well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to kill you both now."

Before Mrs. Forde could react, there was the sound of ripping flesh and the lovely snap of bone, and she was on the floor, her blood pooling with her child's.

Mr. Forde reached for her but fell, his breath bubbling in his throat as the hot blood dripped onto the hardwood and the lights began to fade...

The last thing he saw was his dead wife's horrified face.

And then Mr. Forde met his fate.


End file.
